


Easy Way Out

by owlaholic68



Series: Noir!AU [9]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Betrayal, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Injury, POV Child, Swearing, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-07 18:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15225351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: An alternate take on the events ofthe Noir AUwhere Henry lives.





	1. Chapter 1

Arcade frowns down at his dresser drawer. Where were his flannel pajamas? In fact, where were his red stripe pajamas? All that’s in this drawer is his blue pair and a lighter one that’s not appropriate for January cold weather.

Blue pair it is then. Maybe they’re in the laundry, but he doesn’t remember putting them in the hamper. After changing into his pajamas and neatly putting his other clothes away, he brushes his teeth and combs his still-damp hair before going to bed. He plugs his night-light in and slips under the covers, grateful for the warmth of the thick quilt and extra blanket on his bed.

The next morning, between mouthfuls of cereal (don’t talk with a full mouth), he asks Henry about the pajamas. “Did you put my pjs in the laundry?”

Henry looks up from his cup of coffee (no coffee for children) and shrugs. “I think so. I also put some of your lighter clothing in storage so you’ll have more room for other clothing. Also, your red pajamas were getting too short. We can cut off the pant legs and turn them into shorts. That sound good to you?”

“Yeah.” Well, that answers his question, sort of. He didn’t _think_ that his pajamas were getting short, but he _has_ been growing a lot lately. And Henry usually knows best with these sorts of things.

* * *

Arcade comes up to his room to get his slippers, and pauses when he hears raised voices from the adjacent bedroom. He shouldn’t eavesdrop and he knows it, but he’s also curious. Henry and Moreno got on very well, so if they’re yelling at each other?

“-Judah first,” Henry is saying. “You know that Johnson will probably fall in line if we can get him and Daisy on board.” His voice lowers. “Johnson’s stubborn, Moreno. It’ll be hard to convince him.”

“Still,” Moreno sounds frustrated. “I _want_ him to agree with me. I don’t want to do this without Johnson-”

“And you won’t. But just give it time.”

Arcade ducks into his room and grabs his slippers, but after a moment of reflection, doesn’t put them on his feet yet. His footsteps would be too loud, and he doesn’t want to get caught eavesdropping. But when he passes the door again, they’re talking too quietly for him to hear. He quietly walks down the stairs (walk, don’t run) and wonders what they were talking about.

* * *

Nothing seems less appetizing than the food in front of him, even though he knows it probably tastes good. It’s not the food that sucks, it’s the company tonight.

To Arcade’s immediate left and right, Henry and Moreno seem to be having a conversation with their eyes. Past them, Johnson and Daisy are quieter than usual, picking up on the tension at the table too.

The tension is coming from Judah, who has said nothing the whole dinner, which is very unusual. Arcade would have thought that he had just had a bad day at work, except for the fact that it was Judah’s day off today. He’s alternating at glaring between Henry and Moreno, and staring thoughtfully at Arcade. It’s starting to make him uncomfortable. Arcade pushes around a piece of potato, staring down at his plate. Something seems very wrong here, but he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know what’s going on, he just wants everyone to get along-

In the silence, his sniffle is very loud.

“Arcade?” Henry immediately goes into super parent concern mode. “Are you okay?”

“You’ve barely eaten.” Moreno pushes back his bangs and feels his forehead. “He doesn’t feel warm,” he says to Henry. “But he doesn’t look good.”

“Don’t feel good,” Arcade whines, trying to stop crying. He hates feeling like this, all sick and nauseous and confused. The last time he felt anything close to this was when he had left Navarro, and that thought just makes him more upset.

Moreno picks him up out of his chair. “Come on, pumpkin. We’ll have an early night.”

* * *

Two days later, Judah doesn’t come home from work.

“He called to say he’d be staying late,” Henry informs them. “A work emergency. He said not to wait up.” He turns to Arcade and gives him another bread roll. “Is the soup helping?”

This warm tomato soup _is_ gentle on his stomach and making him feel physically better, though Arcade still is worried. Judah working late isn’t a rare occurrence, though it isn’t common. But Henry asked him if the soup was making him feel better. “Yeah. It’s warm.” He eats some more to placate them, because he’s not sure how much longer he can play sick. Is it faking if you actually feel kind of sick?

* * *

In the middle of the night, Arcade wakes to the sound of the front door closing. He sits up and squints in the dim light from his night-light. Maybe Judah is home. He scrabbles for his glasses on the bedside table and slips off the bed, jamming his feet in his slippers (floor downstairs is cold).

He quietly walks down the stairs (walk, don’t run) and into the kitchen, where there’s a light on. “Judah?” He calls out.

A figure in front of the refrigerator whirls. It’s Moreno, who muffles a curse and fumbles with the cup in his hand, almost dropping it before putting it on the counter. “Arcade, what are you doing up?”

“Sorry. I thought I heard the front door.” Arcade frowns. Why did Moreno look guilty? “What are _you_ doing up?”

“Thirsty.” Moreno grabs the cup and fills it with water from the pitcher in the fridge. His hands are shaking and he looks exhausted. He gives Arcade a thoughtful look. “Now go back to bed.”

* * *

Arcade wants to wear his brown corduroy overalls (cord-u-roy, he turns the word over in his mind), but he can’t find them. All of his clothing is very organized by color, but it’s not with the other brown clothing. He likes to keep everything organized because when Daisy helps him pick out clothing sometimes, she always says “Wow! You’re so organized! I’m proud of you!” It’s like Judah, who has neat lines of dress shirts and crisp pants in his closet, a rainbow of muted colors.

Well, at least his blue denim overalls are in their right spot. Now what does he want to wear with this? He had been allowed to pick out his own outfits for almost a year now. What goes with denim? Everything. He wears brown with brown, but he can wear anything with blue.

Purple sweater. He has a favorite purple sweater. But when he checks in his dresser, it’s not there. That must be in the laundry. Well, he has a red flannel shirt that will be warm enough for going to the park today. But that’s not hanging up in the red section. Why is everything he wants to wear not in his room? Come to think of it, his closet is looking a little sparse.

Blue goes with blue. Arcade takes down a blue long-sleeved shirt and puts that on, tucking it into the overalls. Then begins the complicated process of fastening the buttons, a game of reaching back with his arms and looking at himself in the mirror trying to get the back untwisted. Finally, he finishes getting ready and heads downstairs.

“He’s _where?”_ Daisy’s raised voice comes to him from the kitchen. “And you didn’t _tell_ us before?”

“He didn’t want you to worry,” Henry replies. He sees Arcade enter the room and abruptly stops talking. “I’ll explain later. Are you ready to go to the park?”

“What’s going on?” Arcade doesn’t like when adults do that thing where they stop talking when he walks in.

Henry ushers him towards the front door, stopping to pick up a hat on the way. It’s February, still cold. “I’ll tell you on the way. It’s not serious.” As soon as they start walking down the street towards the local park, Henry explains. “There was an accident at Judah’s work, and he’s in the hospital. He asked me not to tell anyone until they had done x-rays to be sure. His left arm is broken and he broke three fingers on his left hand.”

“Is he going to be okay?” That doesn’t sound too bad, but you never know…

“He’s having surgery for his fingers today. His arm is already set but he needs to stay to get a cast fit. He will be coming home tomorrow evening.”

They reach the park and the discussion is dropped.

* * *

Judah comes home and is very quiet. The amount of thoughtful staring has increased, but he also seems withdrawn. Brooding. He hasn’t addressed a word more than necessary to Moreno, and hasn’t eaten dinner with everyone for the last two nights.

Arcade knocks on the door to the room that Judah and Johnson share. He carefully balances the tray in his hands that has a mug of hot chocolate and a piece of apple pie.

“I don’t – oh. Arcade, come in.” Judah lets him in, then closes the door halfway before sitting on the bed. He gratefully takes the tray. "Thank you for this, Arcade.” He looks tired and sounds exhausted.

“Are you feeling better? What happened?”

“I am feeling a little better.” Judah nods at a pill bottle on his nightstand. “They gave me some painkillers so it doesn’t hurt too much. What did Henry tell you had happened?”

Arcade sits on the bed. “That there was an accident at work.”

Judah nods. “Yes. Remember how I told you about the assembly line? One of the machines malfunctioned, and I wasn’t being very safe. The doctors said that my arm’s going to be all better in two months, and my hand should be good in four weeks. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.” He wiggles the fingers of his right hand. “Good thing I’m right-handed, right?” He reaches out and rustles Arcade’s hair. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. I was worried. Does it hurt a lot?”

“No.” Judah smiles. “Sunshine, you know you’re so precious to us?” There’s something sad and serious in his eyes.

Where did this come from? Arcade nods and catches himself nibbling on his thumbnail, and stops.

“I just wanted to let you know that no matter what, we care about you. If you ever need help, you can come to one of us. We love you. Just remember that.” Judah smiles, but it seems forced. “Thank you for the hot chocolate and pie, Arcade. Good night.”

* * *

Arcade walks into the kitchen in time to see Daisy slap Henry in the face. He’s never seen her so furious, and he’s never seen her _hit_ someone-

He gasps and they turn.

“Remember what I said,” Daisy growls to Henry before pushing him away. She turns on her heel and stomps upstairs.

“Henry?” Arcade cautiously approaches. “Are you okay-”

“I’m fine,” Henry snaps, his green eyes angry.

He’s never talked like that to Arcade before, and he finds that he doesn’t care for that tone of voice at all. “Sorry-”

“No, not your fault.” Henry sighs and rubs his eyes. “I’m not mad at you, buttercup. I’m sorry for yelling. Just a bad day. I don’t like people being mad at me.”

“What was she mad at you about?”

Henry’s face seems to close off like a metal grate over a store window. “Sorry, but that’s between her and me. Don’t worry about it. We’re going to cool off for a day before talking about it again.”

That didn’t _look_ like something to not worry about. But Arcade only nods and doesn’t ask any more about it.

* * *

The morning comes too quickly, and Arcade hasn’t slept at all. He had stayed up all night, tossing and turning and unable to sleep even when he closed his eyes and tried really hard. He yawns and looks at the clock, which reads just after nine. He flips his pillow over and lays back down again. He doesn’t particularly feel like getting up right now.

It’s just before ten when he trudges downstairs (holding onto the railing), still in his pajamas. Judah, Johnson, and Daisy have long since left for work, and when he goes into the kitchen, only Henry is there.

After slowly struggling through a banana for breakfast (Henry had picked up on his current state and hadn’t pushed for more), Henry sits next to Arcade facing him. “I need to talk to you about something.”

This is a foreboding thing to say. Especially coming from a very serious-looking Henry, this could be very bad.

“We’ve talked about talking to strangers, right? And how to never get in someone’s car or go with someone you don’t know?” Henry puts both of his hands on Arcade’s shoulders. “Right now, that applies to Judah, Daisy, and Johnson. Moreno too. If any of them ask you to go somewhere, you don’t go. You come find me.”

“What? Why?”

“I can’t tell you. Hell, I don’t even know if this is me just being overly paranoid, but I don’t want to take any chances. So just trust me, okay? I only want to make sure you’re safe.”

Arcade looks into his eyes and _does_ trust him. Henry being overly paranoid had saved them from the Enclave’s clutches more than once, and if he’s nervous, there’s usually a reason. And this reason is that there’s something wrong between all of them right now. There’s some sort of danger here.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” Henry quickly apologizes, fetching a box of tissues. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to worry about this. You’re so smart, Arcade. I know I won’t be able to keep things from you. I promise I will tell you. Later, when this all blows over. I will never keep secrets from you if I can help it. I promise.”

That means a lot. That means that Henry is willing to trust him. He had already trusted him with something that he wasn’t supposed to tell him. Arcade nods, but he’s so tired and this is so much.

“I’m tired,” he blubbers, feeling like a stupid baby for crying over nothing. “I couldn’t sleep last night-”

“You couldn’t sleep?” Henry feels his forehead. “You didn’t sleep at _all_ last night?” He sighs. “How about we take a nap. I’ll make us some hot cocoa and we can lay down on the couch with the TV down real low. It might help.”

“Henry.” Arcade grabs his sleeve. He feels like he needs to say something, but he doesn’t know how to put it. “Thank you.”

For the first time in a week, Henry actually smiles. “Anything for you, buttercup.” His eyes cloud over and his smile falls. “Anything for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcade uses a very effective manipulation tactic. Moreno's not bluffing. Henry makes an easy decision he should have made a long time ago.

Dinner tonight is worse than any other night before.

Henry and Moreno aren’t looking at each other except to glare. Something’s happened there in the last day. Judah is quiet, as he has been ever since he got back from the hospital. Johnson seems normal but nervous, understandable considering that he’s sitting across from Daisy, who looks like she’s about to stab someone. Daisy’s always had a temper, and Arcade hasn’t forgotten that she’d hit Henry. But underneath that, she looks scared, the kind of fear that drives her to strike first.

Arcade helps with dishes because the family room after dinner is kind of tense and he’d rather not be there. Johnson washes, Moreno rinses, and Arcade dries, though they have to switch with Arcade washing because he’s too slow at drying. If there’s anything that hasn’t changed, it’s Johnson and Moreno. They actually seem like they’re getting along really well. But everyone else seemed like that until there was an abrupt change.

Johnson, standing hip-to-hip with Moreno, suddenly stops. He sets down the mug he’s drying and his breath quickens, staring down at the counter.

Moreno snaps into action. “Arcade, pumpkin, I think we’re good here. Thanks for helping, you can go watch TV now.” It’s a clear invitation to leave, and Arcade takes it. But before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder. Johnson has his back to him, but his shoulders are shaking and Arcade can hear him crying. Moreno is holding his hand with his other hand on Johnson’s cheek, murmuring calming things.

This isn’t something he’s supposed to see. Arcade leaves.

* * *

“I’m going to the store.” Moreno peeks into the fridge and frowns at the egg container. “Do you want to come with me, pumpkin?”

It’s a Saturday, and everyone’s home except for Henry, who is off tutoring college kids. Daisy is up in her room doing something, and Johnson and Judah are taking a look at the backyard to see if they can build a deck.

At Arcade’s uncertain silence, Moreno turns. “Arcade?”

 _Don’t go with him,_ Henry had said. But he had also said to come find him if someone asked, but Henry’s not home. Arcade bites his thumbnail then forces himself to stop the bad habit. Henry hadn’t said what to do if he wasn’t there.

“Uh, no.”

“No?” Moreno looks confused. “Darlin’, I’ll let you pick out whatever you want. We can stop for ice cream on the way there. Are you still feeling ill?”

“Uh, yes.” Arcade is such a _terrible_ liar. And lying is bad. “I’m not – I’m tired.”

Moreno sets aside the grocery list he’s writing and kneels in front of Arcade. “We can drive around for a while to see if that will help you sleep, and you can just sit in the cart.” He smiles, but it seems a little too happy, like Moreno _really_ wants him to go with him. “Ice cream offer is still on the table. Come on, you’ve been so cooped up. And we haven’t really done anything lately with just the two of us, some bonding time. It’ll be fun.”

Those are a whole lot of arguments that are hard to counter. Arcade stares at the floor and tries to think of something to say to reinforce the fact that he really doesn’t want to go. But maybe he doesn’t have to have a whole list of reasons and good arguments. He has a more effective weapon on his side.

“No, I don’t want to go,” he whines, voice getting louder and louder. He folds his arms and puts his feet up on the chair. “No! I don’t wanna go to the store!”

“Oh my God, you’re having a fucking tantrum over _this?”_ It’s a testament to how wound up everyone is that Moreno is already getting frustrated enough with Arcade’s antics to swear. “Stop being a little baby! Come on, we’re _going_ to the store!”

“No!” He screams, hitting the table. He’s never really had tantrums like this, but he might as well start now. “No! I don’t want to! I’m tired and I hate you and going to the store sucks!”

“Store. Now.” Moreno grabs his arm. “I know you’re tired, but what the hell has gotten _into_ you?”

Arcade wrenches his arm out of Moreno’s grasp. “No! Don’t touch me!” He sits down on the ground. “I’m not going! And if you grab my arm I’m gonna bite you!”

“For Christ’s sake,” Moreno clenches his fists and looms over him, and Arcade flinches. Henry’s not the type to hit kids, but he’s seen plenty of adults not have the same restraint, and he’s never gotten in serious trouble with anyone in this house to find out what _their_ stance is on the subject. “When did you turn into a problem child? You’re in trouble. Timeout. Your room, ten minutes. Then we’re going to the store.”

“Fine.” Arcade stands and stomps out of the kitchen and up the stairs (he’s more careful on the stairs, but he does stomp on a few of the steps) to his room. Ten minutes seems like a long time, but eight minutes in, he hears the front door open, and sits up straighter on his bed, straining to listen. Was that someone leaving, or is Henry home? Arcade crosses his fingers.

There are muffled voices on the stairs, then his door opens. It’s Henry.

“Oof.” Henry almost falls over from the force at which Arcade runs in for a hug. “What’s wrong, buttercup? Moreno said that you had a meltdown, but he said he couldn’t figure out why you were so upset.”

Speaking of, Moreno is on Henry’s heels. He closes the door behind him. “He’s still in timeout, Henry.”

Henry handwaves that away. “Is something wrong? Did you sleep last night?”

“I slept for an hour or two.” Arcade rubs his cheek. Maybe he threw a fit for nothing, and everything was really okay. “I just didn’t want to go to the store. I’m sorry for yelling, Moreno.”

“Apology accepted. I was just worried about you overreacting, pumpkin. You’ve been so emotionally unstable lately.”

As soon as Arcade had mentioned the store, Henry had frozen, his concerned eyes widening behind his glasses. He’s staring at Arcade, but he quickly shakes himself out of it. “Just a trip to the store?” He ruffles Arcade’s hair and leans down for a hug. “Just tell us better when you don’t feel well next time. We won’t push, will we, Moreno?” In Arcade’s ear, he whispers, “that was the right thing, Arcade. You were being really good.”

When he pulls back from the hug, Arcade notices that Moreno is suspiciously squinting at them. “Well, that’s all settled. Arcade, how about you take a nap. You look like you need it.”

He yawns, trying to banish his lingering nervousness. “Okay.” Still in his normal clothing, he lays down on the bed and pulls his spare blanket over his shoulders. Henry tucks him in and promises to check on him later. But try as he might, Arcade’s still too keyed up to fall asleep.

* * *

In the moment, Arcade thinks that he’s tripped. When he looks back with a clearer head, though, he distinctly remembers the feeling of a hand on his back pushing him, half-turning to see a flash of bright green.

Don’t run on the stairs, Henry had said. Arcade wasn’t running. Always hold onto the handrail, Henry had said. Arcade had just begun to reach for the railing when he ~~was pushed~~ fell.

He has time to gasp and throw his hands out before he falls. But he lands wrong on his hand and cracks his head against the hardwood floor, and then the rest of his tumble is a half-conscious blur of pain and confusion. He loses his glasses in there somewhere, he thinks, and there’s a fierce ache in his knee, his elbow, his chest, really his whole body.

“Oh my God.” Daisy is the first one out of the living room. She pales and looks like she’s going to faint. _“Arcade!”_

That’s a tone of voice that Arcade’s never heard Daisy use, a panicked scream that draws the whole house to her at a run. Through blurry eyes (his glasses were broken, he realizes), Arcade sees Judah and Henry sprint out of the living room, Henry skidding to a stop on his knees next to Arcade, Judah gasping at the sight of him. Johnson runs in from the kitchen and grabs Daisy’s arm to steady her. Lastly, Moreno runs down the stairs, pulling on a sweater over his bright green t-shirt.

“Don’t move,” Henry orders, breathless, leaning over him and looking in Arcade’s eyes. There’s an unrestrained panic there. “Talk to me. What hurts?”

“Head,” he groans, a fierce headache starting to throb behind his eyes. “My wrist. Knee. Ow, everything, Henry, everything hurts-”

“I know.” Henry feels his head and touches a tender spot. “Take a deep breath. Did it hurt to do that?”

Arcade shakes his head no.

Henry grabs the sides of his face. “Don’t move your head. Use your words.” He glances up at Judah. “I pray to God he doesn’t have a spinal injury, but I don’t want to take any chances. Call an ambulance.” Judah ducks into the kitchen to use the phone. “Buttercup, wiggle your fingers. Move your toes.”

It hurts, but he does that. Henry has him follow his finger, which he has trouble with. His eyes hurt from the hallway light, and he can’t concentrate for more than a few seconds. Henry kisses his forehead and stands.

“You stay there and don’t move. It’s going to be okay,” he says to Arcade. Then, to the rest of them, “I’m going to grab some things. We’ll have to stay at the ER overnight while they do x-rays.” With that, he jogs upstairs as sirens sound from the driveway, the ambulance already arriving.

* * *

Arcade wakes up much later, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He’s been through a gauntlet of scans and tests and x-rays, and he’s still half-out of it from some painkiller they’ve given him to get him to stay still through all of the poking and prodding.

He hears Henry. “You did _what?”_ He hisses, in a very dangerous tone of voice.

“Don’t start with that. What’s done is done.” The other voice is Moreno’s. “I did what I had to do. It _worked,_ didn’t it?”

“Don’t even – I can’t _believe_ you! The ends justify the means, my ass!” The door to the hospital room opens. “Get out.”

“Henry, come on-”

“Get the _fuck_ out of my sight before I do something drastic. This is _not_ what I agreed to. I should have never gone along with you. We’re done here. _I’m_ done. I should have been done as soon as you even _suggested_ that whole mess with Judah. Now leave, Moreno. Now.”

There’s an audibly furious silence, then the door slams shut. Arcade hears Henry sit heavily in the chair next to his bed.

With effort, he cracks his eyes open and opens his mouth to talk, but starts coughing instead.

“Here.” Henry carefully settles Arcade’s spare pair of glasses on his face and holds a glass of water to his lips. “I didn’t know you were awake. Did you hear all of that?”

After drinking the water, Arcade nods. He thinks hard about what happened, and the dots are starting to come together in his mind, though he’s still pretty lost about the whys and the hows. “Moreno pushed me down the stairs, didn’t he?” At Henry’s reluctant nod, he feels himself start crying again, because he doesn’t _understand._ “Why? Why would he do that?”

“We had…a plan, me and Moreno. Or, Moreno had a plan, and I foolishly agreed to it. You know about the bunker.” This is a statement, not a question. Arcade nods anyways. “We wanted to open it. Use what’s inside. To make a better life for ourselves, for you.” He looks to the side and angrily takes off his glasses, wiping at his eyes before putting them back on. “The best of intentions. I told myself it was worth it. No matter who we hurt on the way, it was for the best.”

Something is starting to make sense. “Judah didn’t have an accident at work, did he?”

Henry shakes his head. “No, he didn’t. I even thought at the time that it was suspicious that Judah hadn’t been able to withstand a few broken bones. But,” he takes Arcade’s uninjured left hand, “any one of us would do anything to keep you safe. Moreno knew that. He used that, that _weakness,_ against us. Against Judah. Against Daisy. Except that Daisy called his bluff.”

Oh. Arcade feels light-headed and sick. Moreno pushed him down the stairs to prove a point, to prove that he wasn’t just bluffing. He had thought that Moreno _liked_ him, but apparently he was wrong. “What about Johnson?”

“He hasn’t realized what’s going on yet. But he will soon. Fuck, I’m so _stupid!_ What was I thinking? This is as much my fault as it is Moreno’s.”

“What are we going to do?”

Henry gathers himself back up. “We’re going to do what we do best. As soon as you’re well enough to be discharged from the ER, we’re going to run.”


	3. Chapter 3

The final list of injuries is long, but none of them worryingly serious. A concussion, a broken wrist, a sprained ankle, and bruising all over his body, the worst all over his ribs and back. No spinal injury, no internal bleeding.

They don’t let anyone know they’ve checked out of the hospital. They take the bus to some part of town that Arcade’s never been, and they walk (Arcade is carried and Henry walks) to a storage facility. He pulls out a key from his pocket and opens up a garage.

Their old car is inside, dented and rusty but still working.

“I thought we got rid of this,” Arcade says.

“No, I decided to keep it just in case of emergency. I’m a little paranoid sometimes.” Henry half-laughs at his own joke. He affectionately pats the hood as he passes to open the trunk. The trunk space is filled with boxes and bags. Henry opens one and pulls out a familiar purple sweater. He sets Arcade down on the edge of the trunk and helps him into it, minding his injured wrist. Inside the box is all of the clothing that Arcade has “lost” in the last two weeks: two sets of warm pajamas, his sweater, brown corduroys, a red flannel shirt, socks and underwear, plus all of the things he hadn’t noticed missing, like pants and shirts: all of the essentials to clothe him for months.

“You came to me with nothing,” Henry quietly says, his head down as he opens a bag to reveal a collection of books and toys, some of Arcade’s favorites. He picks out a good book and puts it in Arcade’s hand. “I didn’t want that to happen again.” Henry digs inside another box filled with his own clothing, swapping out his jacket for a lighter one before closing the trunk and settling Arcade in the backseat.

He starts the car with a growl (it’s a very old car), and then they’re off. Driving through the city to the desert is familiar. It’s like leaving Reno, like leaving every other city they’ve temporarily stayed at. It finally hits Arcade that they’re not going home.

He finally had someplace that was called “home”, and now he’s lost it again. He had people he could call “family”, and he’s leaving them behind.

* * *

They head northeast, driving through tiny towns and passing abandoned gas stations. After two hours, Henry pulls into a motel and turns off the car. It will be getting dark soon, and they won’t make much more time today.

“Do you have a phone?” Henry gruffly asks the motel owner after he pays for a room for the night. He’s friendly with people he knows, but he get more quickly irritated with strangers. They point him to a small booth that will offer some privacy. He sets Arcade down in the seat, closes the booth door, and dials a number. The receiver is loud enough that Arcade can hear the other end as it rings and rings, then someone picks up.

“Hello?” It’s Judah’s voice. It’s lucky they caught him and not Moreno.

“Is Moreno home?” Henry briskly asks.

“No, he just went up to the hospital to take you home-”

“Perfect.” Henry is businesslike and cold from stress and urgency. “We’re not at the hospital. You need to leave, Judah. Take Johnson and Daisy and leave. Now.”

“But he – Arcade-”

“Is with me and safe.” Henry lowers his voice. He’s speaking quietly, quickly, aware that he doesn’t have much time. “What Moreno did was _never_ my plan, and I’ll be damned if I let him hurt my boy again. Meet us in Salt Lake City. If you leave now, you’ll get there before us. We’re staying overnight in a motel. You should get one too, then meet us at noon in Temple Square. It’s right in the middle of town, you can’t miss it.” He pauses and looks very old. “Good luck, Judah. See you soon.”

* * *

In the clear water of the fountain, Arcade catches his own reflection. He turns and sets down his sandwich on the broad edge he’s sitting on, and leans over to get a better look. He’d seen it last night, but the light in their small motel bathroom wasn’t that great, and now in the sunlight the difference is more obvious.

He doesn’t look like himself at all. His formerly wheat-blond hair is a dark brown. It’s shocking how such a simple change could so drastically alter his appearance. His green eyes pop and his skin seems paler.

Rule one of going off the grid, according to Henry: change your appearance. Either cut or dye your hair. They had gone with the dye option.

Arcade turns back to his lunch and peeks up at Henry from the corner of his eye. Henry looks super weird with darker hair. His hair was graying, even though he wasn’t _that_ old, but now it’s a smooth russet brown. Even though his is a little lighter than Arcade’s, his new hair color will last much longer, something about not being able to use harsh permanent dye on Arcade’s fragile hair.

“You kind of look like you could be my dad now,” Arcade says, looking around the open square they’re sitting in.

“I do, don’t I?” Henry chuckles, then looks wistful. “You don’t look like your parents anymore, though.” He determinedly squares his shoulders. “But the color will fade soon. We’ll redo it one more time in a few weeks, then let it go back to blond.” He straightens on the bench, looking out towards the other end of the square. “There’s Judah and Daisy.”

Arcade, with his uninjured hand, crumples up the empty paper wrapper of his sandwich and tosses it in the nearby trashcan. Sure enough, even from this distance, it’s clearly them. But it’s only two people. “Maybe Johnson’s in the car?” Even as he suggests it, he’s not sure.

Henry scoops him up and settles him on his hip. As Judah and Daisy catch sight of them, they do an obvious double-take at their changed appearances.

“We can’t stay here,” Judah says as soon as they get within talking range. He looks frantic and exhausted. “Henry, I don’t know if we can really trust you, but we just have to take our chances right now.”

“Where’s Johnson?” Henry jogs to keep up with Daisy as she leads them down a side alley. “Why isn’t he with you?”

Daisy gives him a glare. “He’s a fucking idiot. He wanted to get Moreno’s side of the story before, as he said, _doing anything rash._ He stayed behind and told us he’d meet us later.”

They duck into a small café and take seats. Daisy orders coffees for them and a pastry for Arcade.

“The problem,” Judah says, “is that we told Johnson what you said over the phone, and _then_ he told us he wasn’t going. If Moreno wants to know where we are, he has that information at his fingertips.”

“Henry.” Daisy’s face is permanently set in a frown, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder like she thinks they’ve been followed. “Why did you agree with him? Why did you _do_ all of this?”

He sighs, eyes downcast. “I thought it was for the best. I thought it was going to help. But I also _never_ thought that he would hurt one of us to do it.” He looks Judah in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Judah. I should have stopped him as soon as he so much as suggested violence. But I didn’t. And that’s as much my fault as his.”

“Apology acknowledged.” Judah looks grave. “It’s a hard thing to forgive, you understand.”

“So you had no idea about…” Daisy vaguely gestures in Arcade’s direction. He hates when people talk about him like he’s not sitting _right_ there, but he doesn’t really feel like fussing about it right now.

“Of course not,” Henry snaps. “I know it may be a selfish fine line, but I’d never be complicit in _that.”_ His voice quietens but he’s still bristly, tense. “I did suspect that Moreno sensed my growing reluctance and might take…extreme measures to ensure that he had power over me.” He puts an arm around Arcade’s shoulders. “Collateral. In case I changed my mind and turned on him.”

For a minute after he finishes speaking, the others seem like they’re trying to process it all. Arcade’s mind still feels a little fuzzy from the bad knock to the head he’d recently gotten, and he drowsily leans against Henry.

“What now?” He mumbles, partly to himself.

“What now,” Judah repeats. “What now, indeed. I don’t feel comfortable staying here for another night, but I don’t want to leave Johnson behind. But I’m also not excited about going back, not if there is a danger still there.”

“It’s noon. I’ve got the number to the garage, I’ll see if he went into work today. If not, we could try the house and see if we get lucky.” Daisy puts her head in her hands. “I hate this. I hate that it’s come to this.”

“Me too,” Henry whispers to himself, still avoiding the others’ eyes. “Me too.”

* * *

“No luck.” Judah pokes his head out of the phone booth. “The manager said that someone from the house called both you and Johnson in sick. I’ll try home.” He ducks back inside the booth with Henry and closes the door.

“Arcade,” Daisy starts. She’s sitting next to him on a dingy couch in the motel lobby. “Are you okay?”

He shrugs. “I’m fine.” He leans against her shoulder. There’s a low headache building in his temples, but that’s from the concussion and the stress.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “What happened to you is all my fault-”

“No,” Arcade snaps. Daisy didn’t push him down the stairs, and nothing that happened was her fault. Then, quieter, “no. Not your fault.”

Daisy starts to say something, but both of them are distracted by Judah and Henry, who seem to be having a heated argument. Henry’s hand is over the receiver of the phone, but he speaks into it again.

“If that’s what you want, Moreno,” he retorts, “then you can go fuck yourself. We do this on my terms or not at all. You bring Johnson to the safehouse. No weapons. We’ll meet you there at ten o’clock tonight.” He waits a second, apparently for confirmation, before slamming the receiver back down.

“-stupid,” Judah is in the middle of arguing as they exit the telephone booth, “it’s obviously a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap,” Henry argues. “I’m not an idiot, Judah-”

“Both of you, shut up!” Daisy exclaims. “What is going on?”

Judah sighs and takes a seat in the armchair next to them. “Moreno wants to call the whole thing off, or so he says. We’re meeting him back in Vegas to hash out the details.” He rubs his eyes with his unbroken hand. “We’re leaving now. We’ll figure out the plan on the way.”

And like that, they’re on the road again.

* * *

They leave Daisy’s car behind and all pile into Henry’s. It’s a long trip, monotonous, and Arcade is asleep before they even get out of Salt Lake City. He wakes once when they stop at a rest stop, then again when they reach their destination.

Henry pulls off the road next to a long dirt driveway. He turns off the car. “We’re here.”

They seem like they have half a mind to leave Arcade behind in the car, but he’s already unbuckling his lap belt and opening his door. They are _not_ going to leave him alone in a car in the middle of nowhere _in the dark._ That would be the worst thing ever.

Even though Arcade’s pretty sure that Henry said that there would be no weapons involved on the phone, he still straps on a pistol holster, double-checks the ammunition of the gun, and holsters it before picking Arcade up.

In front of the house, Moreno is waiting. With his left hand, he’s holding on tight to Johnson’s arm, and in his right hand is a pistol. Johnson is staring at the ground and breathing fast, seemingly in shock. Out of all of them, he had been the only one who still believed that Moreno could be convinced to change his mind.

“Henry.” Moreno sneers at them.

“Moreno.” Henry stops ten feet away, the others flanking him. He sets Arcade down and steps forward. “We came here like you asked. Now hold up your end of the deal.”

“Not so fast. I need to make sure you’re not going to fucking kill me as soon as I turn my back. But I’m a man of my word. So how about an exchange. One of yours for one of mine.”

Daisy steps forward. “Fine.”

Moreno chuckles. “Not you, Daisy. Sorry, can’t take the risk that you’ll beat my ass as soon as you get the chance. No, I had someone else in mind.”

There’s a horrible silence. Henry and Moreno seem to be having a fight with their eyes.

“If you hurt him in any way, I will fucking tear you apart,” Henry threatens.

“I won’t touch a hair on his head,” Moreno replies, casual and easy, “unless you do something stupid.”

Henry grabs Arcade’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, buttercup.” He pushes Arcade forward.

“What?” Arcade feels like someone just drove a nail into his heart, then hammered and hammered until it split his whole chest open. Alone in the middle of the two groups, he turns back to Henry with tears in his eyes. “Wh-what are you doing-”

“It’s a deal,” Moreno says, grabbing Arcade’s arm and tugging him backwards. He lets go of Johnson and pushes the other man back towards the others. “Christ, kid, calm the fuck down. I’m not going to hurt you. Just stay still.”

That’s the last thing he wants to do. Arcade squirms and tries to wiggle away. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of movement from Henry, then an answering one from Moreno.

Arcade ducks and screams as a bullet whizzes over his head. He wrenches his arm out of Moreno’s grasp and scrambles backwards.

The next second is a whirl of commotion and gunshots. Arcade is grabbed around the waist and hoisted up. A pistol is pressed under his chin. He jerks his head and yelps in dismay, but it only presses harder.

“Put your gun down,” Henry orders, his voice an unfriendly bark in Arcade’s ear. _Henry_ is holding him? _Henry_ is holding a gun to his head?

“Henry-” He squeaks. No, not this on top of everything else.

“Really, Henry?” Moreno doesn’t lower his gun, but he does have his free hand pressed against his hip, blood seeping through his fingers. He cocks his head to the side. “Yeah, I like the kid as much as anyone else, but why do you think that would stop _me?_ Also, like hell you’re going to hurt him. You could live with his blood on your hands?”

Out of the corners of his eyes, Arcade can see Daisy on the ground, Johnson tearing strips off his jacket to bandage a wound on her leg. Judah is still standing, free hand pressed to his arm to slow the bleeding there. Everyone’s banged up, but still alive.

“Don’t test me, Moreno.”

Moreno scoffs. “Is that gun even loaded-”

A fencepost shatters. Reflexes quicker than the eye can follow, Henry puts the warm barrel back against Arcade’s neck. “Don’t try me.”

“Okay, then for my next question: why should I give a fuck? I have everything I need. As far as I’m concerned, you’re all disposable. I have the whole passphrase-”

“No you don’t,” Henry blurts. Arcade can feel his hands shaking. “I lied to you. I never asked him.”

“Dear old friends, _we_ remember Navarro.” Moreno, keenly staring at Arcade, obviously catches the widening of his eyes. Henry _did_ lie. That is _not_ his word. “Henry, you motherfucker.”

Henry tightens his grip when Arcade squirms. “Henry, Henry,” he babbles, blinking back tears that won’t stop falling, “Henry, Henry, _Henry-”_ He hates this. He doesn’t know what’s going on and he doesn’t want to be here and he doesn’t want to be doing this and he doesn’t want to _die-_

“Ssh,” Henry says, his voice lowered. “We’re going to get out of this. Just trust me.” He raises his voice to address Moreno. “You step down and agree to give this plan up, and we’ll be okay. But if you don’t, if you hurt any one of us, your plan will _never_ succeed.”

“You’ll really do that to stop me?” Moreno challenges. “We did this for _him-”_

“Yeah, and then you pushed him down the fucking stairs,” Henry retorts, a sliver of ice in his voice cutting like a dagger. “We were doing this for him. But also for all of us. This was never supposed to end like this. We were supposed to do this all together. But if that can’t happen, we won’t do it all.”

Moreno raises his gun and Henry flinches. “I don’t believe you. You’d never hurt him, even to stop me. You’re bluffing.”

“Fine.” Henry kneels and sets Arcade on his feet. He kisses the top of his head. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

Arcade shuts his eyes and holds his breath. But Henry doesn’t shoot him. Instead, Arcade hears a quick intake of breath, then he’s shoved to the side. He staggers and opens his eyes.

“Henry,” he gasps, not believing what he’s seeing.

“If you don’t stop this right now,” Henry says, slow and cold and serious, his pistol raised to his own head, “I’ll kill myself. If I’m dead, he will _never_ cooperate with you. Your plan will be over for good. Do you doubt that I would do _this,_ Moreno?”

Moreno sighs. “No. You’ve always been a stubborn bastard.” The fight seems to drain out of him. “Fine, Henry. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of fighting with all of you.” He kneels and places his gun on the ground, then stands and kicks it away from himself, his hands in the air. “Fine.”

Behind them, the others breathe sighs of relief. Henry, still glaring up at Moreno, slowly lowers his own weapon. But there’s still something tense in his shoulders, and he doesn’t put his gun away, still holding it loosely in his hand. He extends his empty hand to the side, beckoning Arcade back to him.

Arcade hesitates. Can he trust Henry anymore? But if he can’t rely on Henry, he can’t depend on anyone. Arcade limps over.

“Cover your ears,” Henry whispers to him. At Arcade’s look of obvious confusion, he simply shakes his head. “Just trust me.”

That’s a big ask. Arcade glances over his shoulder at Moreno, who is staring resolutely at Henry. Moreno lowers his gaze, his eyes steady and filled with acceptance, and nods. Arcade roughly wipes his face and puts his hands over his ears. Henry cradles the back of his head and puts his face into his soft cotton shirt, until all he can see is smooth darkness.

Hands can only do so much to muffle sound. It does very little for the piercing gunshot that rings in Arcade’s ears. He shrieks from the suddenness of it, eyes wide staring at nothing. After a second, he uncovers his ears. Henry lets go of him.

Within his field of vision is Johnson, Daisy, and Judah. Johnson has his head in his hands, brokenly sobbing. Daisy is staring at the dirt, her hands fisted in the fabric of her coat, twin tracks of tears streaming down her dusty cheeks. Judah is ashen but grim. And Moreno-

“No.” Henry grabs the sides of Arcade’s face like he did when he fell down the stairs. “Please. Don’t look.” And Henry. Henry looks wrecked. He’s shaking and seems two seconds from breaking down. It’s terrifying. “Let’s go home, buttercup. Please.”

What he’s asking for is something bigger entirely. Arcade nods and lets himself be picked up. He closes his eyes and doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry: ready to go off the grid at any given moment. 
> 
> Uhhh don't use permanent hair dye on small children? Also I didn't even want to look up how bad 1950's hair dye was, so let's just say that Henry used whatever the 1950's equivalent of a hair rinse (that would only last a few washings) on Arcade, and real actual hair dye on himself.


	4. Epilogue

Things are not okay. Nobody even really tries to pretend.

But they stick together. They keep going, and they try their best.

For days, Arcade sleeps, or tries to. He lays on his bed or the couch, staring up at the ceiling, unmoving for hours on end. This worries the others, he knows, except he doesn’t care. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to do anything. He eats, kind of, whenever someone gets concerned and insistently shoves food on him.

Just before dinner one night, at five forty-seven, after another three hours of doing nothing, his bedroom door opens.

“I’m time for dinner,” Daisy says, poking her head into the room.

“Not hungry,” he reflexively replies. He kinda doesn’t feel like anything. Not hungry, not thirsty, not even really tired despite the amount of time he spends in bed.

She sighs and sits next to him on the bed. “I know. But you’re worrying us. This is difficult, I know. But if you tried to eat a little something, it would make us feel better too.”

Maybe it’s time for a change. “Okay,” he quietly says, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Should I change clothes?” He’s been wearing the same pair of pajamas for the last three days. “I’ll change.”

Daisy smiles. It’s a tired smile, but it’s the first time he’s seen her smile in a week. “I’ll be waiting just outside. Do you need help getting dressed with-” She gestures to his bandaged wrist and ankle.

He shakes his head. Daisy smiles again and leaves the room.

What to wear? It’s just dinner, no need to get fancy or anything. Arcade digs in his dresser drawer until he finds a pair of soft linen elastic-waist pants in a soothing shade of gray. Next he takes a faded t-shirt and pulls that over his head. A small step up from pajamas.

Daisy carries him down the stairs and into the dining room. At the table, already eating, the others look very surprised to see him, which is understandable. Daisy settles him in his chair and grabs him a small plate from the kitchen.

It really isn’t a lot, but it’s much more than he’s been eating recently. A hefty lump of mashed potatoes and some cooked green beans. A glass of milk, as usual, but only half full.

Nobody’s talking to each other. Arcade senses that it will be a while before any of them are readily having conversations again. But the food is good, at least. It’s Henry’s potatoes, creamy and tasty because Henry gets lazy and throws half a stick of butter in. But the green beans aren’t cooked by Henry, because Henry gets impatient with vegetables and often undercooks them. These green beans have little bits of bacon mixed in, and are garlicky and rich. This is the way that Judah makes them, so there must have been a little bit of cooperation in the kitchen tonight.

Miraculously, he finishes eating, and he still feels like he could eat a little more. He tugs on Henry’s sleeve to get his attention. “Could I have some more? Please?”

Henry lights up like it’s Christmas Day. “Of course,” he blurts, clumsily pushing back his chair too fast, scraping it on the floor. He takes Arcade’s plate and more or less jogs into the kitchen with it, returning with another serving of food. Halfway through this plate, Arcade slows to a stop, but even that much effort seems to have made everyone else at the table much happier. Johnson peeks up from his plate and gives Arcade a hesitant smile, and Judah’s shoulders don’t seem as tense.

After dinner, instead of going right back up to his room, Arcade settles on the living room couch with Judah. Both of them are reading. It’s quiet and nice, and Arcade falls asleep leaning against Judah’s shoulder, his book slipping from his hands.

* * *

“Do you know what day it is?” Henry asks one morning.

It’s been really hard to keep track of the days when they blend together like this. “No? Uh, Tuesday? Wednesday?”

“Well, first off it’s Thursday. It’s March tenth. Your parents’ anniversary.”

Arcade sits up a little straighter in his chair. That’s right. Henry brings down the wedding photo that they’ve looked at together every year, and they sit on the couch together. Now that he’s a little bit older, Arcade can easily see how closely he resembled his parents when his hair was blond. The semi-permanent dye that Henry had used on his hair is starting to fade, but it’s still dark.

“How did Mom and Dad meet?” He asks, tracing his finger over the intricate lace detail on his mother’s dress.

“It’s not very romantic, but they met during an Enclave mission briefing,” Henry replies. He always looks sad when he talks about them, but he’s talked about how important it is to remember the good times with people. “But they really grew close on the first field mission that Maria went on with us. It was just her, Mark, Daisy, and me. Maria and Daisy got along like a house on fire. Your mom actually didn’t like your dad at first. But then we all got separated and they bonded during that mission saving each other.”

Next Arcade looks at Daisy in the picture, standing between Judah and Mark. She’s wearing a one-shoulder dress with her long hair done up in a fancy style. “Did Daisy ever crash?”

Henry cracks a smile at that question. “Yeah, but only one time. I wasn’t with them. There was an engine malfunction. She had to make an emergency water landing. Judah got a concussion, but no one else was injured at all. It was a miracle. Or just really good piloting skills.”

In the picture, Judah is beaming with one arm around Daisy’s shoulders and the other around Henry. And next to Henry is Johnson, who has very long hair compared to what he has now. And next to Johnson, grinning up at the camera, is Moreno.

He looks happy. When was the last time he didn’t look frustrated or angry or one step from snapping at someone? How did no one notice how dissatisfied he was?

Arcade doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be sad or not, but he is. He turns away from the picture, from Henry, and hops off the couch. His room is quiet and doesn’t have these sorts of questions.

* * *

It’s Saturday, and Arcade ducks into Henry’s room to ask him something (he can’t even remember what it was now), and finds Johnson there instead.

“Uh, I was looking for Henry?” Arcade says.

“He’s tutoring someone.” Johnson has frozen, sitting in front of the left side of the closet. Moreno’s side.

Arcade frowns. “What are you doing in here?”

Johnson has something in his hand. He closes his fingers around it, then slowly uncurls his hand and shows Arcade. It’s a silver chain bracelet with a small plaque on it. The skinny plaque has an engraved star at each end and Moreno’s name in the middle. “We all have one,” Johnson quietly says, “but we never wear them anymore. The stars represent the Enclave, and the rank is engraved on the back. It’s our form of dog tags.” He rubs the edge of the bracelet with his thumb, then tucks the bracelet into a small box. “Come, sit. I’m going through his stuff to make sure we don’t get rid of anything important.”

That’s right. They can’t preserve the room forever like this. Arcade sits as Johnson pulls out a box from the floor of the closet. Moreno doesn’t have a lot in here besides clothing.

“He didn’t keep a lot,” Johnson comments, taking the cover off the box. In here are spare pairs of shoes and scarves, hats and other accessories. Johnson digs through it to make sure there’s nothing else, then sets it aside. “But what he did keep was often very important to him.”

“I miss him,” Arcade blurts, unable to not say it. “I shouldn’t, I think, but I do.”

Johnson keeps his head down, but he wipes under his eyes. “Yeah, me too, kid. And it is hard not to miss him, but it’s impossible to forget what he did, and sometimes I don’t know which Moreno I should be missing.” He takes a deep breath and pulls another box out. It’s a wrinkled box that looks like it used to be for chocolates, only a few inches long.

When Johnson opens the box, he gasps. “I didn’t know he still had this,” he whispers, and carefully scoops something out of the box. It’s an ornate gold pocket watch, the cover scratched and dull, but the inside still working. Johnson flips it over to read the engraving on the back. “I think he said it was for distinguished service in some war. Jacinto Moreno. Eighteen-thirty three.”

“Wow,” Arcade says, looking up for permission before touching it. “That’s so old…”

“It is.” Johnson sadly chuckles. “I only saw this once before, a long time ago, but I thought he had left it at Navarro. I didn’t know he had brought it with him on missions too. This was passed down in his family for generations, from father to son.”

And with that, Johnson puts it in his hands.

“What?” Arcade says, confused, trying to give it back. “I shouldn’t – I’m not-”

“It’s what he wanted,” Johnson says, crying again. “When your mom was pregnant, when he showed it to me, he said that if he didn’t have any children of his own before he died, you’d be the best one to get it. He wouldn’t want his family tradition broken. Please, keep it safe.”

Arcade curls his fingers over it. “Okay.” He pauses. “Henry said that it’s important to remember happy things about people, but…” He trails off. “It’s so hard.”

“It is.” Johnson stands and helps Arcade to his feet. He takes the box he’d put the bracelet in. “Come on, I have something to show you in my room.”

Johnson’s closet is much more disorganized and cluttered than Moreno’s. He has to dig for a minute before he pulls out a battered photo album. Johnson sits on the bed with his back against the headboard, and Arcade decides to settle in his lap with the photo album open in front of them.

The first picture is a formal portrait of the whole team, all looking much younger. Then, under that on the same page, is another picture taken a few years later. This one, when Arcade looks closely, has himself in it, though he’s only a baby. “I don’t remember being in this,” he says, pointing.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t. You were only two years old, I think.” Johnson turns the page. “Oh, this is some formal event. All that I remember is that it was super boring, but Daisy and two of the girls from Granite’s team did something to the podium onstage, and it fell to pieces right as the keynote speaker touched it.” He laughs. “I don’t know how they managed.” He turns the page.

This page is all Moreno and Johnson, framed by mountains and forests. “Where was this?”

“This was…wonderful.” Johnson eyes are distant. “We weren’t assigned to the Devil’s Brigade yet, and we barely knew each other. Saw each other from adjacent tables in the mess hall for months, and had never thought to say hello before. Then we both got called into the CO’s office and told that we had been singled out for a new squad, and that we each had two weeks of leave before starting intense training with the team.” He chuckles. “We took one step out of that room and decided to go on vacation together. I’m not even sure I knew his name at the time, just that he seemed handsome and lonely, and I wanted to be his friend.”

There are five whole pages of this trip, of cities and forests and deserts and sunsets. Scrawled captions under each photo describe the place, the date, small details. Sacramento _(Orion has a great sense of humor but a terrible taste in road trip music)_ , Yosemite National Park _(Amazing view)_ , the Grand Canyon _(Such a long hike, but so worth it!)_ , Las Vegas _(I won twenty bucks on slots!)_ , Los Angeles _(Had a lovely lunch downtown)_ , San Francisco _(so fun!)_ , countless small desert towns.

There’s a strip of pictures of the two of them cheek to cheek in a photo booth: one with both of them smiling. One with funny faces. One with Johnson grinning up at the camera and Moreno gazing fondly at Johnson, something shy in his eyes. The fourth picture has been torn off. The caption: _Best night of my life._

“It was the best two weeks I’d ever known,” Johnson says, his voice strained. “And then we started working together, and we fell apart within a day. We had this perfect thing between us that we ruined before it even properly began, and I think that’s why we fought so much, and why it was so _upsetting-”_ His voice breaks but he keeps going. “Because every time we yelled at each other, we were just pushing the other away even more, when we knew that – that if we actually tried-” He buries his head in his hands and sobs.

While he gets himself back together, Arcade reaches down and turns the page of the photo album. It’s empty. So is the rest of the book, until the very end. On the second-to-last page are two pictures:

One of the new house. The caption: _Home._

One of all of them together in the living room, taken on Christmas last year. In contrast with the earlier pictures, the differences seem terribly obvious. Everyone looks old and exhausted. The level of happiness in his picture doesn’t hold a candle to what came before.

“You all look so sad,” Arcade comments, quietly, even though he didn’t mean to say it. “He was really unhappy, wasn’t he?”

Johnson nods and sniffles. “He was. I thought that this could be our second chance. We could start over, go back to how we were before the Enclave ruined everything. Live our lives, move on, actually try to build something real.” His expression hardens. “And at the end, he made me think he had finally agreed with me. But he never did. He wanted to start over, too, but in a different way, in a position where no one could ever tear him down. He was always worried about that, about getting demoted or getting kicked out. He hated that I never followed orders, because I think he secretly didn’t want me to be in trouble if something went wrong. But even though he wanted something good, he – he-” Johnson is a sentimental person, and Arcade is seeing for the first time how easily he starts crying at the slightest thought.

“He did terrible things,” Arcade finishes. “That’s why it’s so hard. Because he was nice and I liked him and, and he was _family-”_ He doesn’t want to cry over Moreno, because he really did some bad things. But that wasn’t all of him, and if circumstances were different, maybe they could have all lived happily ever after. “I hate him and I miss him,” he sobs. This is the first time he’s let himself cry over this, and despite what everyone says about letting out emotions, it feels terrible.

“I know.” Johnson rocks him back and forth, letting the picture album fall closed on the bed. They sit like that until Arcade starts falling asleep, too tired from all of the crying. “I miss him too.”

He never turns the page and shows Arcade what the last picture in the album was.

* * *

Arcade wakes to a noise, he thinks. His room is still dark except for his night-light, and when he turns over to squint at the clock, it’s just past four o’clock in the morning.

He doesn’t hear anything now. But he’s awake and doesn’t feel like trying to get back to sleep, so he throws his covers off and grabs his glasses. With some fumbling, he finds his slippers and robe, then cracks open his bedroom door.

Okay, he heard something again. Was it just his imagination? No, there it was again, a soft thump and a gasp, from Henry’s room.

“Henry?” He whispers, slowly opening the door and peeking in the room. It’s dark in here and he falters, but if he keeps the door open at the right angle, the night-light from the bathroom can light up the room a little. “Henry?”

Henry is twisting and turning in the bedsheets, sweating, his teeth gritted. He looks terrible. He’s having a nightmare. What should Arcade do? He should go wake someone up but he doesn’t want to bother anyone, and he wants to wake up Henry but he doesn’t know how, and this is scaring him-

He runs back to his room and buries his head under a pillow until the noises stop.

* * *

“Stand in front of the door,” Judah says, raising the camera. “Now put your hand on the doorknob like you’re going to open the door. Good. Three, two, one.”

After Judah takes the picture, Daisy steps in and fixes Arcade’s collar. “You have your lunch right? And your snack? And your little first aid kit in case you get hurt and there’s not a teacher around-”

“He’s going to school, Daisy, not a battlefield,” Johnson complains, “let him be. And you remember to listen to your teachers, okay? We don’t want any calls about you breaking the rules. But it’s okay if you punch a bully-”

“Don’t tell him it’s okay to punch people,” Judah retorts, wincing. “Nobody’s going to bother him anyways. School is a lot different since we went. He’ll make a ton of friends, you’ll see. Now get outside, your bus should be here in a few minutes.”

Henry ushers him out the door.

“Are you going to wait with me?” Arcade asks, trying not to whine. He doesn’t want his _dad_ waiting at the bus stop with him. He’s going into first grade, he’s not a little kid anymore. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Henry absently says. He kneels and puts his hands on his shoulders. “I’m proud of you for doing this. I know going to school can be scary.” He lowers his head and smiles. “I'm glad you're moving on and growing up.”

Around the corner, there’s the rumble of a vehicle, and the yellow school bus approaches.

Henry lets go of him and stands, waving as Arcade walks down the driveway to the street. “Have a good day at school!” He calls out, and waves. When Arcade looks back, he sees him wiping a tear from his eye before turning and going back inside the house.

He boards the bus and takes a seat. It’s time for school. It’s time to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I cried while writing this about twenty times.


End file.
